


unconditionally

by thebrotherswholoved



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Acceptance, Alternate Universe - Domestic, Dadchesters, Family Bonding, Hurt/Comfort Parental, In Which Everything is Alright, M/M, Oneshot, Original Wincest Child, Parent!Wincest, Short Drabble, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Tumblr: thebrotherswholoved, Wincest - Freeform, good dads, tw: bullying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-25
Updated: 2019-01-25
Packaged: 2019-10-16 01:17:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17539934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebrotherswholoved/pseuds/thebrotherswholoved
Summary: A short lil’ drabble in which Sam and Dean have a teenaged kid who reveals a secret to them.





	unconditionally

Sam and Dean’s daughter comes home from school one day with a black eye, bruises, and a limp, making it difficult to sneak past her overbearing dads unnoticed. Her arm is probably broken given the deformity in her wrist, but that’s not what really hurts—no, it’s now how those kids beat her up, it’s why. Her secret is killing her, now literally as well as figuratively.

When the fifteen year old tries to get through the door after walking from her bus stop, she doesn’t expect her fathers to be home. Her dad works as a forensic analyst down at the police department and her papa is a medical assistant, so they rarely get home before five o’clock even if they work the same hours. So when she stumbles into the foyer like a fawn learning to walk, wincing with every movement because god, those kids fucked her up, she’s surprised to hear a concerned gasp and footsteps running toward her weakened body.

“Jenna, what the hell happened?!” Dean asks as he takes his daughter into his arms, trying to be as gentle as possible with her while he carries her to the couch. A Maury Povich rerun is still playing onscreen from seconds earlier when he and Sam were snuggling together on their break, but he drowns out the results of Donna whatever-her-name-was’s paternity test to take care of his little girl.

Sam hustles in from the powder room with a hospital-worthy first aid kit in hand and joins his husband and daughter on the sofa to get a better look at her wounds. She’s got bruises running up and down her arms, a laceration on her forehead, a sprained ankle, a black eye, and a fractured wrist (that would have to be determined by a doctor, but he’s basically one, right?)—a whole mess of blood and hurt.

“Oh, baby…” he pushes her hair back and hisses at the dried blood staining her skin, “what happened? Who did this to you?”

Jenna, scared to death, attempts to stand up and ‘walk it off’ only to be ushered back to a sitting position between the two men.

“Uh…” she winces at her split lip, making it incredibly difficult to talk coherently, “these kids, four or five of ‘em I think, ganged up on me. I’m fine, though; you don’t have’ta baby me.”

Dean shakes his head and tries to remain calm, even though every fiber of his being is telling him to track those bastards down and make sure they’ll never come after his little girl again. “Jen, you got hurt pretty bad. If Sammy can’t fix you up, we’re takin’ you to the hospital.”

The teen shakes her head in an adamant plea, tears coming to her emerald eyes. “No! Please, no. That’ll just make it worse.”

“Hey, we’ll only go if we have to.” Sam assures the brunette in his arms, knowing full well that she hates hospitals. In the fourth grade she had to go in for an emergency appendectomy, and she passed out when the nurse put her IV in. “Can you lift up your shirt a little, bug? I’m not gonna look, I’ve just gotta check your stomach.”

Her face goes pale at this, but she reluctantly nods her head and pulls her flannel shirt up to expose her abdomen. To his relief, Sam finds no hardness or tenderness when he presses around her midsection, instead becoming perplexed at another finding. When he pulls her shirt back down, his finger brushes against something that feels like an ACE bandage.

Biting his lip, he looks down at her as she places an ice pack over her left eye. “Did you try bandaging yourself already, Jen? ‘Cause I thought I felt a wrap around your ribs.”

Jenna looks like she’s going to be sick with anxiety. Ignoring all the pain in her body, she begins hyperventilating when she tries to speak, and Sam holds her tight to calm her down. Dean works her through her breathing—4, 5, 7—and they wait until she had enough control over herself to finish her thought.

“N-no, I—that’s for s-something else.” She’s crying now, borderline hysterical: a sight that makes her fathers want to start weeping as well. They look at her and silently ask her to elaborate, but she bites her bloody lip and shakes her head. “I don’t…I can’t tell you. I just can’t. You’ll be pissed and hate me forever.”

Her papa takes her hand in his and looks her in the eye. “Bug, you can tell your dad and I anything. We’ll never judge you, ever.”

“We promise,” Dean chimes in. “I mean, your papa and I were literally in a sanitarium for, like, a week. Right, babe?”

“Yeah.” Sam nods with a chuckle. “So, whatever you need to tell us, we can guarantee that we’ve heard and dealt with worse.”

These words seem to help Jenna compose herself and conjure up the courage needed to reveal this part of her identity she’s kept secret for so long. It’s been so rough lying to her dads since she discovered that she is who she is two years ago and she’s exhausted. Maybe, just maybe, they’ll be alright with it.

“Okay,” she whispers, lowering the ice from her bruised eye. “You know how there are some kids who…I dunno, they don’t feel comfortable in their bodies, I guess?”

The younger brother thinks for a moment then nods like a lightbulb went off in his head. “Yeah! Those teens with gender identity disorder and stuff. I worked with a girl who had that, got her on estrogen.”

Dean smiles at his husband’s comment and ponders the correlation before turning back to Jenna, thoroughly confused. “What about them?”

The fifteen year old is fumbling with the hem of her shirt now. She’s barely been able to come out to her best friend, and now her parents? That’s a huge leap. But, she’s hidden for long enough—she won’t let this kill her. Not like how it’s killed so many others. “I…I’m one of those k-kids. I’m sorry, Dad…Papa…”

Sam sits in silence for a few seconds before he hears crying from beside him, the figure in his arms shaking violently. He locks eyes with his husband, who nods with a small, understanding smile, and clears his throat. 

“Hey, don’t cry,” he cooes, running his fingers through the long hair rubbing against his arm—that will probably have to go. “This doesn’t change a damn thing, bug. Your dad and I love you more than anything else in this world, and something this isn’t going to change that. You don’t have to be our Jenna for us to love you.”

“If it’s any consolation, I didn’t agree with your papa when he chose your name,” Dean leans in to mutter, earning him a bitch face from Sam and a small chuckle from the ball of emotion beside him. “Do you want us to call you somethin’ different? I can’t promise that I’ll get it immediately, but I’ll try my best.”

The teen looks up at him with reddened eyes and smiles a bit. “ _Jack_. I like the name _Jack_ …is that okay?”

“Sure thing, Jack,” Dean kisses his _son’s_ head and feels _his_ tears wet his Led Zeppelin lounge shirt. He’s not alarmed, though; he knows that these tears are happy ones. “Alright, now that you’ve got that off your chest…get it?”

His husband snorts a bit and Jack laughs from beside him, now confident in his choice to tell the two idiots he’s proud to call his dads.

The older man coughs and carries on talking. “Now that that’s aired out, how ‘bout we watch Maury Povich while Papa patches you up, yeah?”

No longer hesitant, the boy nods and doesn’t really feel his physical pain over his emotional exuberance. Sam moves to grab some antiseptic but stops himself, first turning back to Jack and nodding at his chest.

“Will you take that off? It’s bad for your lungs and ribs,” he asks in a gentle voice.

The teen frowns to himself but still nods his head, reaching to his side to undo the clips fastening the bandage wrap around his chest. Once it ceases impairing his ability to breathe, Jack exhales and stretches his back, still grimacing at the feeling of his breasts against his shirt. His papa notices and pats his leg.

“I’ll order you a real binder online tonight, I promise,” he murmurs while Dean is fully indulging in his talk show obsession.

Jack beams and mouths a ‘thank you,’ which is answered with a ‘no problem, _son_.’ At that moment, Jack can’t remember why he was ever hesitant about telling his dads at all. They’ve always said that they’d be there for him through thick and thin, bad and good, no matter what—and they’ve come through time and time again.

”Hey, you wanna know a secret?” Dean asks his son in a whisper. Jack nods with a skepticism head tilt—damnit, Uncle Cas—and the father smiles. “When your Papa and I found out we were expecting you, I made a promise. I swore I’d always love you no matter what happened, and that I would do everything in my power to protect you and make sure you’d never be afraid to tell us anything.” 

Sam sheds a tear at his lover’s words, taking his hand and looking at their son, who they’re meeting for the first time; god, he already looks so much happier and full of life than their daughter. “He did. I was there, he thought I was asleep. I made the same promise, Jack. We’re always in your corner,- nd we’ll never stop loving you.”

Jack sobs and embraces his dads. He’s never been happier than at this moment, getting his injuries nursed by his overprotective Papa and having his Dad nudge him to point at the TV and laugh at something dumb. Little does he know, his Dad is gonna come after those kids that beat him up with a BB gun and chase them off, all while screaming: “this is for my son, Jack!”

Everything is going to be alright, and he knows it. Family don’t end in blood, and he’s proud to be Jack Winchester.

**Author's Note:**

> This was written to help me cope with my own family issues and dysphoria. You don’t have to like it, but I hope it reaches those who need to know that they’re loved. Thanks for reading:)


End file.
